Double Drabble: Day Off
Title: Day Off
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Tosh.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 484: Weekend at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: In Torchwood, it’s not the weekend the team look forward to.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: This one’s a double drabble
Owen collapsed wearily into the chair at his workstation. He felt like he’d just run a marathon. Twice. Come to think of it, the way the Rift was behaving at the moment that might not be so far from the truth. They’d been running around Cardiff like a bunch of headless chickens all weekend, gathering an assortment of increasingly random Rift Gifts, and the rare moments when there wasn’t yet another imminent incoming delivery had been spent chasing a pair of very elusive adolescent Weevils. Just like many human teenagers, they were stroppy, wilful, and intent on causing mischief. The team still hadn’t managed to round them up.
Sliding as far down in his chair as he could without slipping right off the seat, Owen tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but Monday can’t come soon enough for me.”
“I know what you mean,” Tosh agreed, slumped over her desk, head pillowed on her arms.
While others would be reluctantly waking on Monday morning to begin their working week, for Torchwood it would be a welcome day of rest; according to Tosh’s predictor programme, the Rift would be taking the day off.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Tosh.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 484: Weekend at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: In Torchwood, it’s not the weekend the team look forward to.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: This one’s a double drabble
Owen collapsed wearily into the chair at his workstation. He felt like he’d just run a marathon. Twice. Come to think of it, the way the Rift was behaving at the moment that might not be so far from the truth. They’d been running around Cardiff like a bunch of headless chickens all weekend, gathering an assortment of increasingly random Rift Gifts, and the rare moments when there wasn’t yet another imminent incoming delivery had been spent chasing a pair of very elusive adolescent Weevils. Just like many human teenagers, they were stroppy, wilful, and intent on causing mischief. The team still hadn’t managed to round them up.
Sliding as far down in his chair as he could without slipping right off the seat, Owen tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but Monday can’t come soon enough for me.”
“I know what you mean,” Tosh agreed, slumped over her desk, head pillowed on her arms.
While others would be reluctantly waking on Monday morning to begin their working week, for Torchwood it would be a welcome day of rest; according to Tosh’s predictor programme, the Rift would be taking the day off.
The End